Au contraire, mon vieux Amos:
Numbers have always caused a fuss.
They are no more real than Neverland --
You cannot catch one in your hand,
Irrational, imaginary things
Their very nature requires wings!
Wings that prevent your grasping them,
From grasping Truth about their den.
Numbers lie in wait, you see:
Without them you can't sail the sea,
Fly a plane, or do your tax,
Make a box or swing an axe,
Explode a charge or make a road,
Find a boson or break a code.
Once I left some numbers in the air,
Four Five Seven Nine Eight were there.
I left them there from night 'til day
For another to claim and take away.
But I could not let them stagnate for hours
So I advanced Mom, myself, to higher bowers.